So Many Times Was It Two Months
by hermiones heart and soul
Summary: Maybe it was the way her beautiful russet curls draped over the edge of the crisp, white pillow. Maybe it was the smell that ever so subtly wafted from her body, the vanilla, milk, and honey scent sweeping the room up in its warm embrace.


Maybe it was the way her beautiful russet curls draped over the edge of the crisp, white pillow. Maybe it was the smell that ever so subtly wafted from her body, the vanilla, milk, and honey scent sweeping the room up in its warm embrace. Maybe it was the fire that shone in her ferociously intense chocolate brown eyes. A fire that dared you to contradict her.

That's what he would have said if you asked him why he loved her. That is, if you asked him two months ago.

Now, she was curled up against his side. Her body shook, with sobs of terror or tremors of sadness, he did not know. Her beautiful curls had been swept up into an effortlessly messy, and matted, pony tail that trailed almost completely to the small of her back. He had tried his best to do it for her, but he had never been all that great with hair. Hell, he was rubbish at it, just take a look at his own unruly mess of raven locks. She smelt of his cologne now, as she never left this position, curled up to him. The fire in her eyes had been extinguished by the tears that overflowed from where the embers once glowed.

He moved her from his side, but only to cradle her, like a small child. He lovingly, yet cautiously traced the words "I love you" repeatedly across her back. He picked up a book and read her a few chapters. She still did not move, not that he expected her too. She never did anymore. He was trying. He thought she was, too. And that made it all the worse.

Two months.

That's how long she'd been like this. Two months ago, she broke.

His girl, his wife, was so beautiful, so strong.

Was.

"I'm sorry. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard. I know it doesn't look that way."

Had he not been looking at her lips as she said the words, he would not believe she had even spoken. It shocked him. And in an instant, his lips pressed longingly into hers. And for the first time in two months, hers returned the favor. And then, she stood up. Holding out her hand, so brittle and frail, bones jutted out all over her, and this place was no exception, she waited for his grasp. And she led him to the bedroom and left him on the bed. And she left.

She came back in an hour. It took her an hour to shower. This was her first shower on her own in two months. And so he did not wait impatiently, rather, he waited proudly.

She came out, her once again beautiful curls dripping with water. Her scent readily enveloped him yet her eyes remained the way they had been recently. But they had something new beginning to be shown through them- love and thankfulness.

"I'm ready to talk about what happened, if that's okay. If it's not, I will leave now, and you won't have to remember all this trouble I've caused you. You deserve more than me and-"

He grabbed her hands, shutting her up immediately.

"My love, what happened to my restless wife? The one who was always so alive, so caught up in the flames that flickered at her heart that she released all the energy on those around her, adding fire and passion to anything she did? I want no other. Nothing will change that." He pulled her towards him after seeing the love shining through the rubble in her eyes, trying to peek through.  
>"Talk to me, my angel. I need to know. I'll fix it."<p>

"It was Dolohov. I was in Hogsmeade, looking for a book, and he seized me from behind. He dragged me off to a small alley between some stores. After he'd had his way with me, he used magic, dark magic, to conjure images of you, Ron, Mom, Dad, all the Weasleys, Luna,, Neville, and a few others. He killed each separately. Differently. Saving you for last. He made me kill you! The magic made me believe it to really be you. He imperioused me. Then he gave me these."

She lifted her shirt to show him the scars. He had seen them when showering her, but he tried not to linger too long on them then. He had let Draco, who was a healer now, take care of them when he initially found her. Two were carved very deeply to her hips. There, the bones had been fully viewable. One laced the middle of each breast, though not as deep as the first, equally as heartbreaking. One was a circle, from a knife being twisted into her sternum. And she lowered her shirt to point out the one on the very top of her scalp. As she separated her hair he saw it went on longer than he realized.

There were no more tears now. She just looked pale and empty, the bruises under her eyes and the pain in them making them vibrant against the rest of her features. Her frame looked sharp from the bones everywhere and her expression was solemn.

He should have protected her. Saved her. He was a terrible excuse for a husb-

She cut him off mid thought with a whisper.

"Don't you dare blame yourself."

The sound of his broken wife was so gut wrenching, he obeyed. Mostly.

He took her wordlessly out the door and to his car. They drove for hours until they reached Muggle London. From there, they flew to America.  
>He led her through the city of New York, and as she grew more into the mold of her old self, not even the city lights could compare to her eyes.<p>

They apparated home much later that night. And they slept.

As a nightmare shook her awake, he comforted her.

They started living normally again, though they did not call upon their friends anymore. Not yet. He knew they would want answers, and she wasn't ready.

And two more months went by. He continued in their patterns, until he awoke one morning to her smiling, perched on top of him. Her hair made a curtain around his face. The smell of her was overwhelmingly extravagant. A smile graced her lips and her eyes had finally returned to normal. A spark reflecting off them.

"I love you, Harry James Potter."

And then a giggle. And a kiss. She pulled him up and danced. They danced across the floor until she pushed him back onto the bed, collapsing beside him, laughing so hard he thought she would choke.

"Are you better, Hermione?"

"No, but I'm going to be. I have you. We are happy. This is our life, and I'm through wasting it away."

His wife was back to her real self. Her tough, gracious, strong, and self-sacrificing self.

He couldn't be happier.

"At night, when you break down, I'll still be here. I promise."

She smiled. He knew her all too well. She would not ask for help. It would be a wordless exchange of comfort, but by his choosing.

"Luna and Ron will be here at 6. They are bringing the wine."

He chuckled as his beautiful wife brought back their old life. Bit by bit.

Two more months and she continued to grow stronger.

She no longer cried every night. She no longer believed it had all been real. She no longer had to fake a smile on the days where it was hard, because there were no more days such as that.

She, his strong wife, beat the unbeatable; a shattered heart.

In two more months time, she came home, a new look in her eyes. One he couldn't place.

"I'm pregnant, Harry."

He smiled. Then grabbed her up in his arms and danced her carefully around the kitchen. He couldn't be happier.

The look in her eyes was that of a mother.

Their life went on.

Dolohov was caught.

Harry was there when she needed him. But that was only once in a while.

They had 3 more children.

The fire in her eyes never went out again.

Each night, he traced each scar, reminding her of her beauty.

He was not only her husband, but her savior. He was her light when it was too dark. He was her air when she was stuck underwater.

Their friends never knew what happened to Hermione. They only knew that, if not for Harry, she would not have bounced back from her haze of pain.

They say it's impossible to fix something after it's shattered.

Harry and Hermione did the impossible.

Maybe...No. Really, that is why he loved her.


End file.
